PoT Crack
by terminal insanity
Summary: short bits of fics inspired by MSN convos, verbal convos, and text messages between me and members of my PoT cosplay group. well, i suppose some of these actually ARE just from my insane mind alone (i shan't blame them for everything). it parody mainly cu


**Fixing Ore-sama's Hair**

They met outside the fast-food outlet at a shopping mall. Most of the outdoor tables were already taken, but it was easy to spot them. It was hard _not_ to notice Atobe Keigo. He stood out amongst the crowds like a vibrant red rose in full bloom on a withered bush. He was dazzling.

Well, that's what he'd say, anyway.

Still, it was easy to find him, and most of his team, waiting at one table—the bags were all at the table beside them. He did _not_ look pleased. Why should he? He had been waiting—_waiting­_! Ore-sama does _not_ wait for _anybody_!—for them to show up. It didn't matter that they were early, that he had simply arrived earlier than they had. All that mattered was that they had made him wait. He opened his mouth to make a short speech on how brilliance such as himself should not have to wait for plebians, but was cut off before he could actually speak.

Kikumaru greeted the Hyotei team—sans Kabaji, Hiyoshi, Ohtori and Shishido, who were conspicuously absent for some reason or another—and Ochibi (who had also arrived early for once) with his typical cheer and genki smile. Beside him, Yukimura's greeting was more sedate, but his smile, though smaller, was equally dazzling. Ignoring the piercing glares from Atobe, Kikumaru happily dumped his stuff on an empty chair at the Hyotei table. No one protested, since they were most likely waiting for Atobe to blow his top at not only having to wait, but being interrupted as well.

Then Yukimura made a comment on his hair.

"Ne, Atobe, you haven't done up your hair yet."

Atobe scowled and touched a hand to his hair, which, while silky soft and gently shimmering in the soft light and whispering breeze, was unstyled.

"Hm, my hair's not quite right either." And as it turned out, almost everyone at the tables had some problem relating to either hairstyle or hair colour. Or both. After a bit of fuss, they all adjourned to the washroom located near an eatery inside the mall itself.

Jiroh, having a hairstyle that required little care beyond actually washing it, simply sat by one side and fell asleep as they began to fix their hair. Echizen, being his normal indifferent self, found a secluded corner of the washroom and tuned out the rest of the world. Oshitari was done first, since his hair was simply blown out of place by the gentle winds outside. He adjusted his glasses, which he didn't really _have_ to wear, and surveyed the toilet, processing information in his tensai brain.

Gakuto, due to some strange mishap the previous night that involved shampoo, conditioner, and some mysterious extra ingredient that had turned his hair a glaring shade of neon crimson, was frantically trying to darken his hair back to some semblance of its normal shade. He had been forced to leave his house in his current state because there hadn't been any coloured hairspray at home. Oshitari sighed at the sight of his doubles partner contorting himself into positions that normal humans—save perhaps Kikumaru—would find impossible. He calmly took the can of hairspray from Gakuto and proceeded to darken the acrobatics player's hair himself, since Gakuto had no real idea on how to do it right.

As he sprayed Gakuto's hair, he continued looking around, occasionally glancing back to make sure he didn't over do the darkening on his tennis partner's hair. Yukimura was helping Kikumaru cut a new strip of bandage and fluffing out the redhead's hair. With a raised brow, he wondered where Oishi was and whether or not the fukubuchou knew that Yukimura was behaving in such a friendly manner with Kikumaru. Come to think of it, why _was_ Rikkai Dai's buchou on such friendly terms with Kikumaru? Oshitari hadn't even known that they had met before today.

With his bandage back in place, Kikumaru then proceeded to dump a whole lot of gel into Yukimura's hair. Oshitari tried, and failed, to suppress a grin when the feminine-looking captain screeched at the sensation of that large, cold dollop of gel into his mass of clean hair.

"Eiji! How much are you putting in my hair!"

Curiouser and curiouser, the buchou was apparently on close enough terms with Kikumaru to be using the latter's given name. Then he remembered that he was wielding a spray can and hadn't moved his hand in a while. He looked back at Gakuto's hair and realized just how uneven his hair-spraying had been. Trying to repair the damage done, he stopped looking around at the chaos happening in the toilet.

He hadn't noticed how long he had taken until a hand grabbed the spray can away from him. He followed that hand to where it connected to Kikumaru's body. The Seigaku regular had apparently finished with Yukimura's hair and had decided to intervene in matters concerning his rival's hair.

"Mou, Oshitari, you've made it so uneven! Come, let me take over." He shifted Gakuto this way and that, brushed aside unevenly-coloured hair here and there and back here again, before finally shaking the can and spraying the mismatched red strands.

Oshitari had to admit that Kikumaru knew what he was doing. Slowly, the colour in Gakuto's hair began to even out, until it was dark plum, with a hint of rust in its depths. Gakuto looked…very nice.

Satisfied that his hair was reasonably presentable, Gakuto escaped from Kikumaru and the spray can. He was _very_ happy to get away from it, since Kikumaru constantly had a slightly maniacal gleam in his eyes when holding the spray can.

Meanwhile, Yagyuu had made his appearance, having found out which toilet the tennis players were in. For some strange reason, he had a can of traffic-cone orange hairspray, and was persuading a sleep-dazed Jiroh to brighten the orange in his hair with it. Jiroh simply shurugged, his hazed mind not awake enough to truly understand what Yagyuu was talking about. The golfer took the sleepy gesture to mean assent, and began spraying threads of bright orange into the sleeping Hyotei player's hair.

After having his way with Jiroh's hair, Yagyuu turned his attention to Atobe. It seemed that Atobe had for gotten to bring along his usual brand of gel and was using Yukimura's instead. The overall effect was not to his liking. After failing to achieve his usual coiffure for the n-th time, Yagyuu took pity on the increasingly frustrated diva and tried his hand at styling Atobe's hair. Atobe didn't say anything, but didn't look particularly pleased that this strange, bespectacled guy was toying with his hair.

And then Yukimura decided to join his teammate in the fixing of Atobe's hair.

The midnight-haired buchou seemed to be playing with the moonlight-gold stands more than actually styling them. He paused for a moment in his ministrations, and Atobe quickly turned to the mirror, not quite wanting to know what his hair now looked like, but to curious not to look.

"Gah! It's not supposed to curly this way!" He protested.

"Maa, but you look so cute like this," Yukimura replied, a serene but mischievous smile on his face. Atobe glared at him, and Yukimura finally relented. "Fine, I'll fix it."

After what seemed like a _very_ long time—Atobe was frantic, his mind churning up image after image of what his hair looked like with Yukimura's fingers teasing a strand here and stroking a lock into place there—Yukimura finally stopped.

"There, I think you look reasonably presentable now."

Atobe scowled sulkily into the mirror and grudging admitted—only to himself—that his hair _did_, in fact, look quite okay. It didn't look as beautiful as it would have had he remembered to bring his own styling products along, but it would suffice until he got home.

When he surveyed the washroom, assessing what damage had been done throughout the mass hairstyling effort, he noticed Rikkai Dai's data player frantically jotting down notes in his notebook.

Damn, he _had_ to find out what data the close-eyed player had managed to get on him. But that could wait until later, when he had more time. Currently, they were already running late. They—meaning Hyotei, Echizen, Kikumaru, and three Rikkai Dai players—were supposed to meet Seigaku's buchou and tensai—who had somehow come across _Rikkai's_ tensai, who was now following them—at noon. It was almost five minutes past that.

He alerted the washroom to that fact, but found that only Yukimura was actually listening.

It would be another ten minutes more before the two buchous would be able to get everybody out of the toilet.

A/N:

Okay, I _know_ this is so crack. () it's actually a slightly altered version of what took place before my cosplay group went for our first full group outing at Fort Canning Park. There'll be a continuation to this, of course, as soon as I type it up. Man, minna-san, please don't kill me for writing this… and I'm adding this bit because I know that some of you actually _do_ read my fanfic (yes, that means you, Fuji). And believe me, there's gonna be more insanity from where this came from. ()()()() I can't help it. It's been a very long time since I allowed myself to freely indulge in humour fics, and even longer since I last let myself type crap and just post it. But some of the ideas that I had (and I even noted them down in Yukimura's notebook so that I would remember to type they…eventually) proved too fun for me to resist. ()

COMING SOON/AKAN DATANG: Picnic in the Park/(my knowledge of bahasa melayu sucks, okay? So sue me.)


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